Tag Archives: water

Day 20 — personal readings + brief verses

A second Festival of Grief poem although far from the worst day I’ve endured in these past 35 years. Playing round with the meaning of the word “reading” based around verses pertinent to today. I love how a theme can forge a type of poem you’d never consider otherwise. Factoid is short sharp & shiny.

*****

Three Readings

Halfwit 15:4 – And, behold, there was a great downpour upon the holy day: and the stone was rolled back, and all the waters swirled in fury down the hole; and the angel cried out in pain, and called his name; and lo, he ran in, but nothing could he do except embrace her for the messenger of the Lord had already decided, what was to be, and had descended from heaven, and sat upon their hopes. 

Fishtail 15:6 – And when they looked, they saw that another had come in, swiftly, sudden and unexpected, like a guest in the night filling that room from whence the stone had previously been rolled away: but lo, though she was quiet and calm and oh so gentle, she likewise could not stay; for her need elsewhere was very great; and so she departed causing a second great pain to the angels. 

Hijinks 21:7 – And so in this way, many moons passed and the dark cave was almost but not entirely forgotten, until much perplexed thereabouts, they found the old stone rolled across and the angels hearts’ at once gladdened and grew afraid lest the sadness be returned; and so it indeed came to pass that before the season’s end, two messengers stood by them in shining garments; took their hands and lead them away from the sepulchre to whence they were never to return. 

*****

Day 20 Factoid – shortest bible verse (is very short)

John 11:35

the short
est verse
in the Bi
ble is also
my favo
urite …

Jesus wept. 

The 2024 24-hour Poetry Marathon

So, 20 minutes ago, I began the process of attempting my 7th 24-hour The Poetry Marathon.

It’s an annual event which attracts foolish or brave or whacky or focused or whatever poets from all over the world who commit to writing a poem an hour, one an hour, for 24 hours.

This, as I said, will be my 7th time doing this. Why subject myself? Because previous incarnations have produced some wonderful wonderful poems (several of which made it into my full length poetry collection published by Friendly Street Poets last year). Others have been published elsewhere & yet others from previous marathons are ready to go for the next potential collection.

That is my goal for today — to crank out another dozen or so good poems, 1 or 2 great ones & a few that could be improved with work to flesh out my next idea.

You’d think I’d be getting better at it, but, no. I feel the least prepared of any year so far. Sure I have some snacks, some healthy food, lots of coffee, a rough idea of the poems that I might like to write … but I’ve had a long long day today & no mid-afternoon nap & I’m worried I may not make it all the way through as previously.

This is just a wee note to remind myself that, it’s okay to call quits if I do not feel like I’ll make it. It’s JAG. Just. A. Game. A very fun challenging game, but still, just a game.

*****

As with previous years I’m only going to post excerpts of poems here so I can use them/submit them to those competitions/journals that count even personal webpages as PUBLISHED.

*****

(Hour 01) 10.30-11.30pm. TEXT PROMPT: Write a poem about a dream you had without ever indicating that it was a dream in the poem or title. 

 the last : endless : beach

the sun is setting : endlessly : i know it’s a setting sun : not a rising one : the same way i know : my soul : is slowly : drifting : into this mist : with every step : one drop : one step

*****

(Hour 02) 11.30-12.30am. TEXT PROMPT, Write a poem set in the past, that still incorporates modern technology in some capacity. For example you could write a poem set in Victorian times but with dating apps. 

time travelling while sitting still, scared

Rueben, the kids, the dog & I
huddlecrowd in the corner 
of an old slowtumbling down cottage
(it could almost be a cave)

*****

(Hour 03) 12.30-01.30am. TEXT PROMPT, write a poem that starts and ends with something someone else said, real or imagined. 

creed

we’ve still : got to live : capital L life : not merely survive : life is to be spent : not to be saved : no good trying to hide : amongst our own aloneness : we’ve got to stick to it : stick it up : them : us : ourselves :

*****

(Hour 04) 01.30-02.30am. TEXT PROMPT Write a poem using a one or two regional or personal references that only someone from your region or from your family might fully understand. Do not explain the reference within the poem.

my hat, it has three corners

when Rueben started 
very quietly, first humming, 
then outright singing
doing the actions as well

Mein Hut, der hat drei Ecken,
drei Ecken hat mein Hut.
Und hätt er nicht drei Ecken,
so wär’s auch nicht mein Hut.

*****

(Hour 05) 02.30-03.30am. COMBINED Image Prompts: [Hour 4: Bench covered in snow; Hour 5: Japanese auto-repair artwork]

dust-breaths 

want them out of there : straightaway : tell them : swallowing the dust : could be : really bad for their breathing : without telling them : what i think the dust : actually is

*****

(Hour 06) 03.30-04.30am. TEXT PROMPT, What if you reflections were real and you could enter them? Write a poem exploring some aspect of that idea.

beneath the reflection 

how they’ve turned 
from inveterate squealers
to silent film stars

testimony both to 
their terror of discovery 
& will to survive 

*****

(Hour 07) 04.30-05.30am. MUSIC PROMPT: Listen to this clip of The Swan performed by Yo-Yo Ma and Kathryn Stott and then write a poem. If you are not connecting to the music you could try writing a poem about a swan.

swan song

a sickly black swan
races across the water

in terrible slow motion
gradually gaining grace 
with each tiptoed tap

*****

(Hour 08) 05.30-06.30am. TEXT PROMPT: Every year involves at least one prompt that encourages poets to try to use a specific poetic form. This year write an acrostic poem. 

Bonus: poem presented in all its full-scale glory

DROPPED THE SKY 

Days pass 
Relentless
Overwhelming 
Paranoia
Pricks
Everyone’s 
Dreams

Technically 
Humanity
Exists still

So we
Keep on
Yanking chains

*****

(Hour 09) 06.30-07.30am. TEXT PROMPT: Think of a word you use a lot. Write a poem where at the very least every stanza begins with this word. There should be at least three stanzas, ideally more.

in water

water : tumblergrumbler : death ray deflector : magic marker : wonderdrug of the new millennium 

water : breathe of life : liquor of living : succour of nature : paramour of the planet : queen of quintessence

water : bane of bugs : enemy of invaders : preventer of pyschosis

*****

(Hour 10) 07.30-08.30am. TEXT PROMPT: Write a poem that contains fantasy elements.

Bonus: poem presented in all its full-scale glory

Rueben’s Big Plan

Stella has asked me if
— partly to distract me I think
partly cos she’s deeply concerned
at how little I’ve spoken since
Ryan & her rescued me —
I’ve had any good dreams lately.
I haven’t — but I tell her a fantasy
that’s been playing in my head:

Where I ride a pod like Ryan did
right back to the bug’s mother ship
work my way inside & figure out
how to reprogram every craft & send
them all back to their home system.
I’d follow on my star-powered sailing ship
right back down the warp tunnel
or multidimensional worm hole
that brought them so unwelcome here.
Before addressing their hive queens
or whatever & convince never to attack
another civilisation ever again.

Only when I finished my tall tale
did I realise I hadn’t mentioned
bringing mum (or any of the other
billions of sentient earth beings)
back to life & now I’m worried
Stella’s going to worry about just
what that says about me …

*****

(Hour 11) 08.30-09.30am. TEXT PROMPT: “Do you remember the first poem you ever wrote? Rewrite it with the knowledge, skills and perspective you have now.”

Konking two tasks with one stone here as every day for the past 2 months I’ve been creating a haiku-esque snapshot of the land around me. Today this tiny poem is gonna serve double duty.

16 June, haiku

rusty metal gate, leaning
morning mist veils the vineyard
— i drift beyond


Inspired by 2 lines of one of the earliest poems I remember writing.

“As I lean upon this gate
My mind sees things
Both small & great
Into mist disappearing”

*****

(Hour 12) 09.30-10.30am. TEXT PROMPT: Write a poem that uses at least five of the following ten words. You can choose all ten if you’d like: Wave : Sneakers : Yell : Stew : Linger : Ginkgo : Soft : Math : Sliver : Magazine

another argument i cannot hope to win

i.
Stella waves me over : what are you doing : this isn’t a safe place : to linger : we gotta go : shhh she tells me : even though : i was far from : yelling : we’ve got to take Ginkgo : what’s a ginkgo : she holds up : a silver name tag : GINKGO 

*****

(Hour 13) 10.30-11.30am. TEXT PROMPT: “Write a poem that makes generous use of any one of the following figures of speech: Hyperbole, Onomatopoeia or Oxymoron.”

Bonus: poem presented in all its full-scale glory

Address of the Bugs

Stella’s question from the other day
About dreams has had me wondering
Why did the bugs never address us
Like they always do in Hollywood movies
To keep my mind occupied as we walktrudge
I’ve begun writing my own
Address of the Bugs

Although this might surprise you
The silence of the universe is deafening
One variable however is constant
Our chaos is controlled
Our kindness, cruel
We do not arrive accidentally on purpose
It is fairly obvious, an open secret
Your species is going nowhere

Your only alternative
Only choice, only option
Is pretty ugly
You must disappear in a quiet roar
Your screams must be silent
You are as dead walking
Your absence from the galaxy
Will not be conspicuous
But a bittersweet loud whisper

*****

(Hour 14) 11.30am-12.30pm.  TEXT PROMPT: Write a poem about dancing.

lessons in dance

we promenade : circle left : then circle right : do-si-do again : we shoot the star : slip the clutch : box the gnat : spin the top : walk & dodge : slide thru : tag the line : scoot up & scoot back : making up silly little moves : until we’re all : just kinda standing still : in a group hug : which lasts a long time

til Jake says : I’m hungry : & we all laugh : & move on

*****

(Hour 15) 12.30pm-13.30pm. BOTH PROMPTS: Write a poem about satisfaction – it could be about the concept as a whole or a memory of that feeling + bare trees & silver skies

Bonus: poem presented in all its full-scale glory

success

silently we sail : at what feels like : supersonic speed : compared to our previous plodding pace : along the silverblack : highway : the only sound : the soft shiffle : of six soft tyres : shushing swiftly

at the moment : all five of us : are currently cycling : the ground is flat : the work easy : we feel free : fast : like birds on the breeze : beneath skeletal trees : devoid of leaves

& me : contentment : seeping from me : like honey

i don’t look at Stella : there : is : no : need

*****

(Hour 16) 13.30pm-14.30pm. VISUAL PROMPT: the prompts for Hour 16 pr do not really suit my project so I have gone back to the image from Hour 13. Stone circles.

claw circles

approaching : the creek : feels like invading : next door neighbour’s bedroom : see what seem to be : 3 foot prints : hoof prints : impressions

…

it takes a moment to process : but then : understanding

i might well be : the first human alive : to see the claw prints : of our intergalactic bug : exterminators

*****

(Hour 17) 14.30pm-15.30pm. TEXT PROMPT: Write a poem about a long walk.

Are you kidding me? My entire project is about a long walk. Hahaha. I’ll tweak it a little.

double trouble

i’m tired of walking, Katie complains
we’ve walked for weeks, Jake adds
it’s been about 3 hours
& we’ve carried you
for most of that
but i’ll ask Ryan & see
his response is : predictable
the more often we stop
the less fast we’ll get there

nevertheless we stopp
& almost immediately
those previously boneweary brats
begin a rather surreal game
of silent cat & mouse
which shouldn’t be possible
with just the two of them
yet somehow is & leaves me
confused whether to
laugh scream cry or join in

*****

(Hour 18) 15.30pm-16.30pm. TEXT PROMPT: Every year I challenge poets to write a poem about a subject most poets don’t write about. This year I’m asking for poems about kitchens.

quiet time

the little ones : are outside : running endless circles : after complaining of being tired : we’ve stopped : so they can rest : i almost shouted at them : to sit down : be still : & shut up : but managed to : get a grip on my crazy : before it escaped : the best way to control damage : is before anything : is broken

instead i said : gonna go see if i can scrounge some food : so : no kids in the kitchen : but can already tell : there’s nothing much here : to cook : which is fine : really : just need some quiet time : to think : perhaps to cry

when i notice : the calendar on the fridge : photo of a clown bike : 3 kooky clowns : all riding this dodgy bike : all facing different ways : which reminds me : of seeing a circus : once : where the whole troupe : piled on top : (well piled with precision) : onto one big bloke : acting as the bike-riding base : upon a super-strengthened bicycle : & suddenly : i am cooking something : even if we won’t be able to eat it

*****

(Hour 19) 16.30pm-17.30pm. TEXT PROMPT: Choose the title of a book you haven’t read (yet) as the title for a poem.

the motion of the body through space

i’m not a big believer : in fate : or at least : i didn’t think i was : until : part way through my pondering : & mental sketches : Stella bursts in : fit for a fight

says : we should stay here a few days : my look asks why : i think this place used to be a b’n’b : i’ve found a storage room : with lots of/ : sounds great : i say : cutting her off

before she can react to my rudeness : jump up : bustle outside : for while she was talking : i notice : on the floor : in the adjoining wet room : at least a dozen : boots & shoes : of very differing sizes

the kids don’t like walking : not even so much : don’t : as they’re small : little legged : they can’t : they tire : we can carry them : but then : we tire

their bodies don’t move : as easily as mine : through the space that surrounds them : even as mine : moves swiftly towards : a huge shed : with three large sliding doors

this is going to be a problem : given how far : we are supposed to be trying : to go

all doors are locked : but if this owner : was anything like my father : gaze around : there : in that seemingly : discarded rubber boo

keys : unlock : look in

maybe fate & i : are at last : becoming acquainted


title borrowed from Lionel Shriver

*****

(Hour 20) 17.30pm-18.30pm. VISUAL PROMPT: Write a poem about home, metaphorically, actually, or spiritually.

lights on

i.
this once rich earth
home to bustling
lifeforms of all kinds
big small ugly & us
                 long gone…

ii.
no longer have one
just empty buildings
where once we lived
all that made it home
                 long gone…

iii.
an idea of afterwards
a potential safeplace
on a hidden corner
of an unknown map
                 still there?

[just a quick simple one to enable me 40 minutes respite]

*****

(Hour 21) 18.30pm-19.30pm. TEXT PROMPT: Write a poem about love that is not romantic.

twinge

after 2 days : solid soldering : alone in the shed : mostly alone : (Rueben popped his head in unexpectedly once : & is now pledged to secrecy) : i return : knowing tomorrow : will be the day : of my great reveal : to see Jake : asleep like a lizard : on Stella’s lap : Rueben reading Katie a storybook : found in one of the many : upstairs bedrooms : the multiple pairs of boots : definitely : revelatory : & i feel a twinge : & a tingle : deep in my chest : i never thought i’d know again : after dad’s death

*****

(Hour 22) 19.30pm-20.30pm. TEXT PROMPT: Write a poem about fighting sleep.

lights off

far too many hours
spent fighting sleep

after Ryan revealed
his many-wheeled contraption

after all — why was i angry
it was indeed a clever fix

something we could all
play a part operating

able to carry food, supplies
tired kids, creature comforts

fast, non-mechanical
essentially silent & so

virtually undetectable
to the bugs’ sensor systems

decided far better to stop
fighting sleep now

so i have the energy
to fight Ryan tomorrow

— at least, for a little while

*****

(Hour 23) 20.30pm-21.30pm. TEXT PROMPT: Write a poem titled Tender, Tender.

Tender, ten der (vishes)

Softly my German godmother
whispers gently to me that
she will grant me twice-five wishes

Either that or a greek unit of soft religious
beggars will soon pay a visit to me
neither makes that much sense

& to be honest …i’m kinda too tired to care 🤩

*****

(Hour 24) 21.30pm-22.30pm. TEXT PROMPT: Write a poem about wishes.

the wish trap

right now — don’t want
to wish for anything

too much rides on it
too much — heartache

wishes are for softer times
when minds can — wander

ours need to be
— steel trap strong

just to — survive

Was gonna just write a soft little wishy washy wish poem (easy to do at the end of an exhausting day, but glad I didn’t). Finding the opposite way in [using one of my 2 main characters] created a darker more interesting poem I’m quite happy with as a starting point for future tweaking.

Day 16 — missing fish + a trilogy of fish fun facts

There’s lots of research concerning the devastation caused by BP’s 2010 Deepwater Horizon 3 month long oil leak around the Gulf of Mexico. This poem, explores one of the least reported/appreciated consequences. One which didn’t make the news cycle because the effects weren’t felt for three, four, five years — but the experts, the fishermen of the gulf knew what was happening. [3 longish verses aren’t being published.]

*****

missing fish

missing fish don’t make 
the news ; there’s no dramatic footage

no bodies wash onto beaches
just thousands of bubbles of nothing

following BP’s deepwater disaster
fish embryos didn’t grow

…

missing fish don’t make 
the news … but they should

*****

Day 16 – TIL a lot of fish related fun facts. (Ironically, at this point last year I wrote my flamingo triptych which was one of the highlight poems of last season. Today I find myself with lots & lots of fish facts, so I decided to replicate the idea.)

fish triptych

i. 
something odd (& gross) is happening 
in the waters of Britain
— a third of all male fish are changing 
sex due to human sewage pollution

ii. 
Atlantic hagfish produce enough slime 
in a minute to fill a bucket — no, no
i don’t care about the size of the bucket
that’s all the information i need, cheers

iii.
fish “speak” using a variety 
of low-pitched sounds 

they grunt : moan : & boom ; hiss : 
& whistle ; croak : creak : shriek : & wail

they rattle bones : gnash teeth
noisemake by jiggling muscles : 

against : their swim bladder
— ahhh : kindred spirits : who knew?

Day 27 — euphoria + % H2O

Today was back-the-front because the Poetic Factoid pome came first, which then gave me time to stop & think what I should write for the Big O sequence. It was an easy choice. Somewhere along the way, I started (perhaps subconsciously) pairing the two thematically or otherwise; now it’s become intentional.

*****

euphoria


it should ache / hurt more / than it does / this wrenching / these many hands / hot hands / wet slippery hands / angry hands / clawing / scratching / screeching / hooting / as they pull me / a / part / like a cloud / i can / only / feel one thing / the buzz / of a billion bees / as my soul / is systemically / set free / as the notes i was / float high / & begin / piece/meal / the long journey / back down below / down / that cold clay / path / i know backwards / but have not / trod / in many years / at last / now / a home / coming / a / re/union / with / she / who was lost / to me / twice before / but soon / no more

*****

Day 27 — TIL a bit about biology

% H2O

i’ve long known
the human body 
is largely water
(60% on average)
however TIL 
the percentage
changes slightly 
with age, sex, & hydration 
ranging from 45 to 75%

i’d like to posit it
also varies depending
on the time of night
because at 3am
doonasnuggled 
nearing zero
outside then i feel 
close to 98-99% aqua
before the suddenly 
urgent dunnydash 
— yet strangely 
only about 12 or 13%
upon my safe if 
shivering return
to 4-poster perfection 

some folks argue
sex with your true 
love is about 
as wonderful 
a sensation this 
gourd offers 
but the zen of empty
bladder after holding on
too long surely comes 
                           close 

Day 26 — stream of consciousness poem

I wrote this (well the first draft of it) dictating it into my phone as I lay in bed about 3am this morning, unable to sleep. I was just trying to record some ideas that have been roiling round in me for much of the past fortnight (possibly longer). Sure, I’ll be glad when April is over, but I gotta say it’s been hella good therapy. 

When I looked at it again around 7am, I realised it made a dreamy kind of poetic sense so instead of ripping phrases out & assembling them, I thought I’d try a different poetic technique & go with the flow. This consisted mainly of tidying up the times I had to repeat myself cos it didn’t understand what I was saying & deciphering some of the VRS’s quirkier interpretations. Adding a phrase or two here & there, but really very little.

When I read it again at 11pm in preparation to post it, I cried. (But then I always have been a bit of a sook!)

*****

dream of consciousness

we spoke with such softness and hope … of a life we might live together … we felt like everything was coming together the way it was meant … the way it should’ve done years ago … years and years ago … where all those missed opportunities finally reached fruition … like flowers being born … after long years in dry ground … waiting for the rains … of being fully awake … fully alive … at last … we discussed living together … we discussed weddings … we discussed babies … we discussed beliefs … talk of souls and eternities … re-discussed lives together … loves together … lives passed … lives present … we really did wonder if we’d known each other before … been together before … as if some web connected us through time … and space … the dark matter mattered … and for a few months it felt like everything we did … tapped into that magic stream … we appreciated everything … it was all wondrous and wonder full … the connection … the constant need to be in contact … the thousands and thousands of text messages … over 7000 last time you counted … sure about 6500 were from me to you … but still … along with hundreds of photos and videos … little snippets of where we were … what we were doing … random thoughts … random things … tiny silly things … things that made us smile … made us happy … things we thought we’d do together one-day … road trips that we go on … places we’d visit … things we’d write … plays we’d be remembered for … play time 

the hardest thing is … you took away the fear in my heart … filled it with joy and laughter and hope … and now going back to what it was … is worse than it never filling in the first place … but I think I get it … seems now you only were ever half-present half-engaged half-involved half-accepting half-believing half-wanting … half of where I was … I know that’s a lot of halves

you say you don’t believe in fairytales … that life isn’t a fairytale … but it could’ve been … and more … could’ve been better than that … we had all the ingredients … we had the potential the promise the prospect … the energy of fire … the connection (again with that word) … the buzz … the celestial bees buzzed right through us … through me anyhow … when I’m brave enough … to look back through some of the photos … or god forbid … read some of the messages … we sent to each other … I still can’t understand why … why you didn’t want this

why … you didn’t at least want to try

Day 07 – ordinary days (& extraordinary nights)

Open doorway

A fun little exercise whereby I describe the things I’ve done today in more abstract ways via unordinary day alchemy; ie, went to the shops & bought vegies might be unordinary day alchemised to hunted in the long cool aisles for prey that cannot outrun me. Fear not, the examples in the poems are better (I hope 😂)

on an unordinary day 

i now have

half a dozen doorways
to new nowhere rooms
if only i can get them home

two notebooks which float

more stories i own
but likely never know

two big volumes of all
the old words of once were

somewhere silky
to rest my migraine
& learn new dreams

plus a full tank to take me there

 

 

BONUS POEM: April 7, 2018

A poetic love fable. Inspired, this may come as no surprise, by the fact that Venezia has somewhat scrambled my otherwise fairly reasonable compass. Conceived on one bewildered journey; completed on several others when I set out to deliberately wander writing lines in my head as I went …

The poem so far I’m most pleased with 😁
[2019 edit: even more pleased with it following a few tweaks 😁😁]

*****

The 1000 Ways to San Marco Piazza

my love lives in Dorsoduro ; I, in Castello ; & every morning ; she promises to meet me ; in San Marco’s Piazza at sunset ; she says if we find each other there ; our love will last

if I had the talent ; I’d pen a postmodern novel ; telling of the thousand ways ; we never meet ; a short chapter ; a paragraph; even just a line, a single word ; about how my unerring ability ; to lose my way ; dooms me ; where every route I choose ; is wrong

the one where I see her on another Ponte, chase her, see her on other Pontes, but I never get closer ; the one where every Calle is a dead end ; the where I find a letter on the cobblestones from her to another ; the one where I fall in ; the one with a Calle so narrow my shoulders touch each wall, closer, closer, till I am wedged tight; the one where I meet another who might in fact be : the one true one

nights thick with the stink of summer tourists ; nights where the waters are still obsidian; nights when I don’t want to leave the house ; nights when I am dying to ; muggy shirts sticky nights ; wet winter nights ; nights where la Serenissima is a dream ; nights where only it is

& maybe ; one night ; when I least expect ; I will arrive ; & so will she ; & we ; will meet 

07b Calle

Day 09 – poem about damage

1

If I said I understood everything I wrote, I’d be lying. Today’s effort comes from a form of poetry-generation; a pome-making game I guess. The steps are simple.

1. Make a series of lists (using prompts).
2. Choose one element from each list.
3. Find a way to combine them in one pome.

Ergo, below…

surveying the damage

through the window
yellow leaves cover the lawn
on the table bread is dark
brown like chocolate
— the wind blew all night
forcing doors & knocking
knick-knacks from sills

too cold to emerge
from beneath blankets
so the water did what it must
— spend the morning
throwing all my books
into a pulping machine
they’re useless now

 

Day 24 – moving from a playwright to a poet

Been working on a poem about zero, but I like it too much to put on here (publishers/journals are so finicketty about what’s classed as ‘previously published’, & lots are saying even a little ol blog like this disqualifies it).

So instead, you get this other poem I’ve been toying with today. Less successful, but an okay first draft perhaps. Poems about writers on consecutive days, was unintentional … On the plus side, this was based on an idea/several articles from my To Do List, so little boom for that!

*****

much water, more salt
the last days of a great love poet

september 11’s,
have been occurring for centuries
americans do not have copyright
on the date though they might
like to think they do

one such,
sanctioned with behind-closed-doors CIA-backing
featured a right wing military coup
in a small South American country
where a democracy was taken down
& a dictator installed — within 12 days
three key opponents: the President, the Singer
& the Poet were all dead

naturally,
a cornucopia of conspiracy
theories abound, suspicions, coincidences
the official death certificate claims
advanced incurable cancer of the prostate
led to his malnutritious wasting away
yet his chauffeur (who conveniently doubled
as bodyguard) had a different, simpler take —
he was injected with something at the clinic
& died the day before he was preparing
to escape into Mexican exile
after allegedly having been full of life
railing against the chaotic first days
of Pinochet — & enjoying sex

so,
the Poet’s bones will be exhumed
from a grave near the sea
forensics experts will sift through
much water & more salt
to see if traces of poison
remain

whatever they find,
……………………………..or don’t,
it’s unlikely to satisfy
those who don’t want to be

*****

Neruda_by_anloyra

April 11 – Day Eleven: out of nowhere

Today (as it was, Friday) was a challenging day.  I had quite a few attempts at things, none seemed inspired or inspiring. I was more interested in reading rather than writing for most of the day. I had ideas, but they just weren’t flowing.  Finally, I had to call an end to it & begin to get ready to catch up with friends & go see a (as it turned, rather strange, bland) production of Dracula.

In the shower, however, the first lines of this poem (“i hear voices in the water, singing in the shower stream”) made themselves known to me.  Others came pretty rapidly as the wonderful pounding heat soothed my stress away.  The fact that these lines were later bumped into verse 2 & tweaked a bit is of no consequence. The fact that I was almost late to the play because of the need to finish the poem, perhaps is …

company

at my old house. 3 sets of footsteps
would run away. when you approached
the front door. stop. as you unlocked.
then race to the back room. temperature’s
changed. for no reason. the back bedroom
was always colder. no matter the weather.

here, i hear voices. in the water.
people talking. in the shower stream.
singing. where the drain turns a corner
down deep there. below the bath
& it always feels. someone is near
not too near. perhaps. but close by.

not always, a good thing
for those. who live. alone.

*****

films_about_ghosts_by_lneprz-d4izjmu

 

Image: films about ghosts by LNePrZ